"You can eat for perhaps three hours a day," The Grandfather went on, "depending on your sexual appetite and your years, you can spend an hour, perhaps two in play at sex. But I can spend every waking minute of every day on my pleasure." He smiled. "You are helpless, bound by your bravery, you fool!" And Comstock, considering the matter wondered if The Grandfather was right. One Achilles heel alone remained to attack. Could a coward foresee rashness, foolhardy bravery? Or would a coward be unable to intuitively foresee such an action, to grapple with it; not that he, Comstock, was brave. Only one other way occurred to Comstock in which the matter could be tested. Leaning his upper trunk as far forward as his bonds would allow, he said slowly, throwing his words into the teeth of the bearded man who faced him, "You are a liar." It is an understatement to say that The Grandfather was surprised. His face was absolutely blank as he repeated the word, "Liar?" questioningly. * * * * * Comstock was aware in the lengthening silence of the immobility of the single-eyed muzzles of the stun-guns which surrounded him. Not since he had opened his eyes in that singular room had one of the guns so much as twitched. "Surely," Comstock said. "For instance, there is no one behind any of the guns that seem to menace me." Lean fingers were busy caressing the silken hairs of the beard that cascaded down The Grandfather's chest. The gaunt face surrounded by the aureole of hair was intent. "How?" he asked, "could you tell that?" "Because I am _really_ a coward." Comstock said almost boldly. "And I know that no coward could really take the chance that an involuntary tightening of a trigger finger, caused, perhaps by a sneeze, could and would mean death. And I know too that it takes courage of a sort to talk about one's own cowardice. For instance, I find this that I am saying very difficult. That little prepared speech you delivered convinced me of only one thing. You are not afraid of anything." The Grandfather's hand reached out to his desk and his almost too long index finger darted out and pressed a button. Instantly the bonds that had held Comstock immobile in the chair loosened. The Grandfather said slowly, "Bowdler chose wisely when he selected you as a rebel. Perhaps more wisely even than he knew." Comstock moved his arms about in the chair, having no desire now that the bonds were no longer holding him, to get to his feet. He was afraid that his wobbling knees would fail to support him. Massaging his arms where the metallic bonds had bitten deep, he waited with some trepidation for what might happen. Whatever it was, he feared it would be highly unpleasant. It was. The Grandfather rose from behind the desk and looking down at Comstock from his not inconsiderable height of six feet ten inches, said, "Since, as you have so truly pointed out, the secret of my continued power is not fear, what then, _is_ my secret?"